Thursday, October 31, 2013

Like many good stories; this one begins with the
protagonist ignoring warnings of prudent origin.El Chefe had cautioned me; riding the Thrilla loop backwards was almost pointless compared to riding it in the usual counter-clockwise
direction.“It just doesn’t flow; it
doesn’t feel right,” he offered in a questioning tone. The awkward pause almost
asking me to join him in a ride mutiny. I let the moment slip away.

Geoff has been our faithful and kind leader on these
journeys and he seemed to really want to ride it backwards. I felt inclined to support him (or at least
try it so I could know better in the future).

With a scheduled evening departure we were all
carrying powerful headlights. El Chefe and I were sporting the Maglia Bruno and
Geoff was clad in his Roosterwear.
Doug’s attire reflected his apparent strong need for autonomy. The backwards route starts off by climbing up
heart attack hill three minutes after you leave your car. The short approach is
beneficial because as soon as you see what you will be climbing you start to
question yourself. The climb ascends to the
horizon at an alarming grade. There is a gate at the top that gives perspective
to how steep the climb is. Because the
approach is so short, you find yourself riding up it before you were able to
talk yourself out of it.

Like a poker hand containing four of a kind, we four
idiots climbed the long, loose slippery grade which averages 18% without any of
us stopping. Your forward/upward momentum
started and stopped with each pedal stroke. If your wheel spun out you would be
doomed to climb the rest on foot. I
didn’t say walk because it is too steep to call it a walk.

At the top I likened the climb to the Zoo Hill climb in Issaquah;
I can do it, but it isn’t fun. The route
continued up the somewhat monotonous Tolt power/pipeline trail. The route would climb a hill and then gave back
half of the elevation only to climb another hill and again give back a portion
of that climb as well. Continuing east
we steadily gained elevation on the roller coaster road. On one of
the short descents we were creating a wake of leaves that flipped over like
dominos as we passed. It was the
highlight of the day. This trail is fine in fulfilling its purpose of getting
you back to Red Hook after doing the fun parts of the Thrilla, but on its own
it wasn’t a party. I was yet to be
impressed.

When we finally turned and dove down into the forest it
was completely black and our lights had been on since heart attack hill. The flow was reversed and the portions that
are a blast to ride as a curvy, flowy, gradual uphill now required braking and
since we were travelling slightly downhill, the braking wasn’t as
effective. The trail was covered with
huge golden brown leaves so the route itself wasn’t as obvious as normal.

Can I again stress that we were riding it backwards (I
prefer backwards to reverse because backwards implies there is a different,
clearly superior, direction). The turns
required a little more care and we were wisely going slower than our usual
throw-down speed. The loose leaves and
wet ground also made the corners a little more adventurous than usual.

El Chefe and I were zipping along and I went just a
little wide on a left hand corner covered with yellow leaves. The leaves made it
hard to judge where the edge of the trail was and what was off the trail. As my
front wheel was about to be back on the “proper” trail the wheel and front of
the bike unexpectedly dropped. I could now
see the trail had a buried plank of wood on the edge to prevent erosion and my
wheel was on the wrong/downhill side of the plank. The trail continued level across a small
depression and my bike continued down the “off ramp” to the right. My weight was now over the trail and my bike was
on a divergent trajectory to the right.
The hinge point in this equation was my left knee against the edge of
the plank. The bike didn’t lose traction in time (damn those awesome Clement
MPX clinchers) and my knee bent in a direction it is not designed for. If you imagine your left foot is supposed to
hinge at the knee in the north and south directions; mine went west.

El Chefe was behind me when I rolled over in last
Sunday’s race and I attribute this crash to him as well. Why did he MAKE me crash AGAIN?? He was, however, perfect in coming to my
aid. He let me sit on the ground for a
couple minutes while I went through the “WTF” phase and gathered myself. I tend
to jump up and this time I was very content to sit still and wait. With both hands I slowly took hold of my knee
which hurt like hell. It felt strange,
like it wasn’t mine. It felt warm and cold at the same time. I ran my fingers
up, down and around like I was feeling for something. Nothing was sticking out
or bleeding. Cautiously I held my knee
and flexed my heel toward my butt. If you imagine getting hit from the side you
would naturally bend your knees in to limit the side to side deflection which I
had just experienced. Even though it was too late, I pulled my knee toward my
chest and hoped everything would align.
Isn’t it funny how our minds work?

Oooooooohh Shit !

After what seemed like several minutes, El Chefe helped
me to my feet, commencing the “Okay, now what?” phase. He offered to help me out of there and then
offered to guide me back when I said I thought I could ride. My leg could bear weight but flexing was
another matter. I figured the route back was generally downhill with only
minimal climbing so I decided I could make it. This really was more of a hope
than a determination based in fact or logic.

Our teammate "Hot Pants" out of gas in front of Casa de Chefe' last June

The crash had caused my wheel to move in the dropout and
after realigning it the bike was ready to go.
Me; not so much. I stepped over and gingerly clipped in. I
started pedaling using my right leg for all the power and just having my left leg
along for the ride.

I should know better..

Then I entered the “Just how bad is it?” phase and decided
to see how my left knee was working….

Light downward pressure on the pedals. Left knee feels…….okay (I lied to myself).

Then I thought I would try light pulling on the upward
pedal stroke…Holy mother of shit!! I
felt a make-you-want-to-scream level of pain and all of it in one tiny
spot. That is not good. That is way bad. Torn ACL was my first
thought. I’m not even sure that is where
your ACL is, but that was the thought that was running through my head.

The blessed virgin had not blessed my bike or this ride..

I felt old. I am a
grandfather and I was riding fast, on wet gravel trails, in the dark, in cold
weather. What could be more stupid? Why don’t I try it with a blindfold on? I am lucky Hottie indulges my foolish
priorities and allows me to pretend these things are relevant. On the upside I am too old to spend much time
in the “Regrets” phase and am quick to adjust to the “Acceptance” phase.

My brain switched to survival mode. The night was cold but we had dressed for
it. I was pretty sure that whenever I
stopped pedaling my knee would stiffen up.
Already my range of motion was limited. I knew that the adrenaline that was helping me
would soon expire as well. “Don’t stop till you reach the car” I thought to
myself. As we emerged from the
watershed, Geoff was stopped. “I’m going
to keep riding,” I muttered without looking toward him; I turned west toward my
car and the end of the ride.

Cool French tombstone

El Chefe escorted me and I took a squirt of hammer gel.
Man that apple cinnamon has some flavor!
A few minutes later Geoff who had ridden ahead was stopped to add some
air to his rear tire which had a slow leak.
Once again I mumbled something as I rode past not even considering
stopping.

My mind was racing. The adrenaline had to go somewhere. I
guess my Cyclocross season is over. What was the name o f the guy who did
Hottie’s knee surgery? Man, my knee hurts.
Aren’t El Chefe’s knees cold? I’m going
to hurt tonight. I’m glad I don’t shave
my legs. My knee hurts. I guess if it is tendon or ligament damage there isn’t
any rush to get it treated tonight. The
air smells fresh. Gawd my knee
hurts. My toes are cold. El Chefe is a stud. My knee sure hurts. I wonder if I should call my doctor tonight or
wait until morning. My knee feels okay
when I’m coasting downhill. Maybe it is just a strain? Here is a short hill. Holy shit my knee hurts. I am so screwed.

Just before emerging from the hills onto the Sammamish
River Trail there are some downhill gravel corners that aren’t all that sharp,
but are pretty loose. As I got out of
the saddle my left leg feels….unstable.
I settled back in my saddle and ease around the corners.

I knew the right

medication could help me.

Soon I am on the trail and without a word to the others I
pedal northward toward the car. I am
alone for a bit and I look skyward at the moonless night. I try and freeze the moment in my mind as I
assume I won’t be riding again for a good while.

My hands are cold
and the grass on the side of the bike trail sparkles like a sea of diamonds,
the beads of dew reflecting light from the beam of my headlight. El Chefe pulls alongside and I thank him for
his help. He says it was nothing, but I
know that he fully realizes that I needed help.
Geoff and Doug stayed away sensing that I was not feeling social tonight.

At the car I load the bike in and angle myself into my seat
without bending my leg. Now that I can
let down my guard my knee really throbs. I am distracted but make it home
without killing anyone. I tend to
Hottie’s misbehaving bike and stupidly test ride it. Her lower saddle increases my knee angle and
it feels like an ice pick in my knee. My
injury doesn’t seem to be making me any smarter.

I shower, eat and begin my Aleve and ice treatment. I can’t find a position that is comfortable
for my knee. My legs are sore from the
heart attack hill climb which adds insult to injury (literally). Once in bed it takes a while before I fall
asleep and I wake often during the night.
Turning hurts more than when I had knee surgery. This sucks.

The next day I saw my doctor who listens to my story and
pokes and pushes with the care of a good friend and exceptional doctor. In that very room he once told me the best
way to avoid surgery is not to visit a surgeon. After completing the exam he tells me to set
up an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon.
It appears I have injured my medial collateral ligament (MCL). I could be okay and not need surgery. Time will tell.

Any post that includes an image like this is generally bad news

Today I called and made the appointment.

Someone told me this morning that I “must be devastated.” I’m not devastated. Today is one of the best days of my
life. Today my oldest son and his wife
welcomed their first born, Alexander Joseph, into the world. You can keep calling me Grandpa, but I am
still not ready to grow up.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Eight men sporting the maglia bruno made the journey to the grounds of the former Northern State Mental Hospital to partake in the the spectacle that is Woolley Cross. We were all in the same race which was a treat. Hottie was faithfully along for the day and Betty the Beast was at her final race in Washington for 2013.

Does this make my butt look big?

With Halloween this week, Evo felt inspired to dress for the occasion. After a week of seemingly endless fog, I was afraid to be cold so I was glad we had some awesome Fuel Coffee.

There is just something about Coffee !!

Oh Yeah....

The race organizers moved the start away from the haunted buildings which helped kept the mood less...Stephen King-like. I'm not kidding. I'm not.

Evo wasn't the only one is costume....

We warmed up and the course revealed itself to be a combination of sketchy gravel speed sections, long grinding gradual climbs on alternating stretches of bumpy grass or loose gravel. There was a real run up and later a steep descent that made you want to grab the brakes. It was mostly dry with just a couple wet sections to keep us honest.This race in a highlight on my calendar for a few reasons. First, the venue is so weird it has to be seen to be believed. When the course is wet, the race is nothing short of epic. The biggest reason is that the race series is low key and uncrowded. Instead of sixty guys in a race category, this series has twenty to thirty guys. Forgive my using this as an example but instead of a five minute hike to the portable toilets where you stand in line to use one of the dozen or so blue shacks I walked one minute to find the five port-o-lets four of which had green signs indicating they were vacant. The cascade cross series has a great vibe as well. It matters.

Some of us just have style...

The race got underway and a bunch of us were mixing it up. I settled in and felt okay. As we neared the end of the first of five laps I was getting really, really hot. The long sleeve shirt and tweed sport coat along with the thick wool socks were causing me to overheat. I felt a certain responsibility dressed as I was to maintain a requisite level of class and had promised myself I would not unbutton my coat.

Did I mention at times stuff was steep ?

As the race wore on I settled into a level of effort I could maintain without melting.

Yeah, there were barriers

Some sliding on the gravel in combination with my costume made this a great day not to hang it all out there. After the race Matthew would be wiping blood off his hand, arm and leg as a result of an up close and personal experience with the gravel. On the third lap I hit a small lip on the inside that was one of the few wet spots on the course and got my back wheel to slide to the right and it launched me on a perfect line to the run up.

Note the pristine elbow patches

The run up was short and it made sense to me not to even shoulder the bike. On the fourth lap I approached the same lip and my front wheel slid out and I went down. I was on my back with my bike in the air over me. El Chefe was right behind me and his brakes were working just fine. Thank you DG ! Looking as if I planned it, I rolled over and with bike in hand, attacked the run up. A fan yelled, "Good thing that jacket has elbow patches." I was feeling the power of the Tweed !

During the the race I had been getting lots of cheers for my costume. People were calling me Tweed guy, Bill Nye (The science guy), Bow tie guy and Professor. I was reminded of a single speed race years ago when I was battling with a guy in a big bird suit. The fans were all yelling for him and I felt like chopped liver. Today I was that guy and everyone was cheering for me. I enjoyed that.

Note the dirt and grass on the elbow patches post-crash.

My race was nothing special as I was so hot in the outfit. I did beat the two riders I was dueling with on the last two laps in the last two hundred yards which was a small victory. After the race I took off the coat and it was soaked through with sweat. The shirt was clammy as if I had just pulled it out of the washing machine. I peeled down and changed into temperature appropriate clothing, and called it a day.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Although I haven’t mentioned it for quite some time, I’m
still bike commuting one or two days each week. Last year I tried to commute on Tuesdays and
Thursdays and do intervals on the
bike on my way to work. This year I’m
using spin classes for my intervals and using my commute as recovery. Come December I’ll reclassify the commute as
base miles, but for now, they are just easy miles.

After some thought I decided to make my commute more
comfy and I’m riding a steel frame with a leather saddle and fat tires. Before
you assume I am going all “Randonneur” on you; rest assured I am not. Although I am often wearing wool, I haven’t
felt the need to photograph my meals
or buy food at gas stations so I am clearly keeping any randonneuring urges at
bay.

My commute hits the sweet spot as far as distance at
about seventeen miles (twenty-seven kilometers) each way. The distance is enough to get dressed for and
justifies bringing a bottle of water as well.
If it were much longer it would really take too much time compared to
fossil fuel powered alternatives.

I am lit up like an ambulance with three powerful red
lights flashing behind me and one red flasher pointing ahead along with a
headlight that is so bright it warms the pavement. I shamelessly subscribe to the lighting
policy of, “Better to offend some and be seen by all.” Riding in the dark with a dim tail light is
tempting fate with an eventual outcome as predictable as playing the slots in
Las Vegas.

My teammate BigJohn has a bright orange helmet that can be seen in the peloton as easily
as if he were wearing an orange traffic cone on his head. For commuting I admired his visibility enough
that I took a can of spray paint from my garage and turned my black helmet
orange.

I picked up some Planet Bike fenders that are wider and
keep the water away from me. I keep
trying new things and refining my set up with no end in sight.

I have been on the same route now for more than two
years. If you asked me what the worst section is on that route, I would point
to one stretch of about 2k where I detour because of a bad combination of
narrow shoulder and lots of traffic.

We should all be careful what we wish for because that very
section has been torn up for months with new water and sewer pipes going in and
the entire road being replaced. Why this
isn’t being done in sections is beyond me, but the result is a long stretch of
mess between my home and my office.

On my way in to work I am early enough that the
construction guys haven’t arrived yet. The last few weeks I have been able to
ride past the detour signs and through the construction mess on what is now
gravel. I can see that the new road will
be wide and likely feature a healthy bike lane.

In the meantime, I can either detour like I am used to
doing (and on my way home this remains my only option) or fight my way through
the gravel which is often harder than I expect, especially with tired legs. In the darkness before dawn the gravel does
have a unique allure that draws me to ride it.
I find my shoulders rocking as I spin through the gravel with my tires
wanting to wander.

My morning commute has been in the dark for some time now
and my return journey in the evening will be in darkness when we move the
clocks back in less than two weeks. We have had a run of thick fog that makes
this ride an adventure and ensures I have my lights charged and flashing. The
darkness and fog result in tunnel vision and forces a zen-like focus just to
stay on route.

The cooler weather also necessitates more clothing,
further slowing the journey. We had an unusually warm and long summer and I
haven’t yet cycled through all of my long sleeve jerseys. Booties and long gloves have been hiding in
the back of my drawer waiting to be called to action. I look at the gloves and winter clothing as
if they are neglected friendships. I am excited to use them again. After a
spring of road racing, a summer focused on big miles and a fall full of
Cyclocross I am looking forward to the transition to some slower rides.

There was a recent articlefeaturing Cyclocross racer Tim Johnson where he discussed how he felt the
label of bike racer pigeon-holed him as he considered himself more a cyclist
than a racer. I have a respect for bike commuters, road racers, mountain
bikers, Cyclocross racers, summer cyclists, randonee riders and track
cyclists. Sometimes it is nice to ride a
mile or more in someone else’s world. It
would be disappointing to have to choose only one aspect of cycling.

Back to the subject of commuting…

I still marvel at the crap that ends up in the bike
lane. I chuckle at the stuff I see
behind the signs that say, “FREE.” It
scares me when people pull out of their driveways with their car windows fogged
up. It touches me when I see a man throwing a ball for his dog to chase in the
park at five minutes past six in the morning.
I laugh out loud when I am riding through thick fog and I can see a TV
in someone’s house with a weather man telling them it is foggy outside.

I still get anxious as I approach intersections and exercise
my faith in my lights when cars come up on me from behind. I give dirty looks
to people who don’t pick up their dogs poop and smile and greet pedestrians and
runners when I can. I try to memorize
where the potholes are now that it is dark and I can’t see them and I rejoice
when they get fixed.

I feel bad that I tend to neglect the drive train on my
commuter bike and I hope if I ever run into Lennard Zinn, I’m riding a
different bike.

It feels good to have the various aspects of the commute
dialed in. When you bike commute there
are so many little things that have big consequences if forgotten that you
really appreciate getting them right.
Things like my bike lock, keys to home, keys to the office, my phone,
not to mention forgetting my glasses can all be game ending mistakes.

When I get home the preparation for the next commute
starts as I hang my gloves to dry. If my shoes are wet they go on the boot
dryer. Rain jacket and booties get hung
to dry. I have two riders worth of clothing to wash. A quick shower and a nice hot meal and life is
good.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

One of the many things I love about Cyclocross is the
continuous problem solving that is required for competitive success. On the road you have tactics and training. In
road racing equipment counts for something (and setting aside tactics) but the
person with the stronger legs nearly always prevails.

Cyclocross has a nearly infinite number of inputs.
Fitness matters but bike handling skills, equipment selection and preparation
and experience play a more important role than perhaps any other cycling
discipline. When you add in the
literally infinite combination of courses and conditions the equation enters
the realm of calculus.

Go to a track or road race and you will see nearly all of
the riders on trainers warming up while sipping their chosen drink mix from a
water bottle. At a cross race you may see riders some riders on trainers while
others are spraying their bike frames with PAM cooking spray and their drive
trains with de-icer before heading to the start line.

In Cyclocross the topic of tire tread patterns and tire
pressure stirs strong emotions and sparks endless debate. The skill set for
bike handling on dry grass corners is separate from the skills required to
pilot your rig through muddy turns. Knowing when and how to dismount can mean
the difference between finishing on the podium and finishing in the pack.

Each race adds to the saddle bag of knowledge. It is only through an accumulation of
countless, “Whoa, THAT didn’t work” experiences that you begin to gain valuable
Cyclocross wisdom. Sometimes the
learning relates to equipment, other times the subject of the lesson is clothing,
bike handling, tactics, training or even nutrition.

Much of the learning is counter-intuitive and must be
actively implemented to become habit. Shifting your weight on the bike to
corner faster only comes with practice and time. Trusting your tires to stick takes a faith
that does not come naturally. Continuing to pedal as you approach a corner even
though you know you will be braking in a fraction of a second seems pointless
until you do it in a race.

When the pros are racing I try to watch and learn from
every aspect of the event. I’ll talk to
the pro mechanics before the race to gain some equipment tips. I will watch what the pros are wearing when
they warm up as well as when they race and take note of all the little things. Watching
a pro ride with a rear fender during warm up laps to keep the wet mud off his
butt inspired me to drop $13 on a clip on fender.

I’ll use a different lube on my chain for early season
races when the courses are dry and a thicker lube when the conditions turn
muddy. I’ll try and anticipate the conditions and bring the proper tires. I study the photos of the pro bikes to spot
things like using a section of old inner tube to keep water from entering my
frame at the seat collar.

I am generally happy to dispense what I have learned with
friends and teammates. A couple years ago I had another rider dismiss my
suggestions. He was convinced running
his tires at 65-75 psi was the way to be fast.
I thought back on the price I had paid to gain my knowledge. The races where the bumps had almost knocked
my teeth loose and the off camber at Evergreen Elementary where anyone running
over 34psi in their tires slid out. I knew I was right but he didn’t want to
listen.

I looked at the newbie and his dangerous combination of
enthusiasm and over confidence. I
couldn’t deny him the learning experience that was waiting for him.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Last week was so hard that only half of my teammates who
braved the misery of Tall Chief showed up this week for a follow up pain
treatment. Guy, Feral Dave, Seph and Mr. T. all leveraged their wisdom and/or
schedule conflicts to avoid this week’s allotment of suffering. The race this
week was challenging but did not necessitate Davo digging into Evo’s Big Book
of Adjectives in order to relate the experience.

Once again we had a pre-dawn departe’. The venue and race this week was a “compare
and contrast” exercise. This week and
last week were similar in that both were in foggy/cloudy conditions. It seems
like weeks since we’ve seen the sun. While it didn’t rain for either race, the
ground was wet with morning temperatures below the dew point. Both courses
featured lots of grass and were, at their heart, power courses. The
temperatures were again cold enough that after finishing you had to change
quickly to beat the onset of hypothermia.

There were other aspects that were starkly different than
last week. We covered almost twice as much distance in the same amount of
time. This race took place at an urban
lakeside park complete with modern buildings and modern art. Last week’s race
was off in the sticks and even the moss was old. Last week featured lots of smooth (albeit
slow) grass and this week the grass was bumpy and there was pavement, gravel
and cement to round out the course.

Despite being a power course, last week’s event rewarded
bike handling skills and Cyclocross race experience. This week required only a
minimal skill set.

Evo whistling while he works..... using minimal skills

Where last week was muddy, this week the course was fast
and generally dry. By the end of the day
the grass in some of the corners was getting pretty mulched, but there were no
wheel-eating bog-like conditions. Our
bikes were still recognizable at the conclusions of this week’s festivities
whereas last week mud hid your bike’s identity. Last week the course favored
runners and this week only required you to unclip to step over barriers.

Last week we were in the bottom of a valley and the fog
felt like a lid closing the valley walls around you. This week featured a small hill that would
have afforded views were it not for the low clouds and fog that kept the sky a
nondescript flat grey.

Last week tent set up was haphazard and this week our
tent locations were controlled with an iron fist. I’m not advocating one
approach over the other, I’m just pointing out the contrast.

The temperature wasn’t supposed to reach ten degrees C
(50 degrees F for my imperial friends) all day so we brought along a
heater. We didn’t bring just any heater,
we brought Mr. Heater. We had a strong
showing of juniors and when they weren’t racing their lack of body fat had them
gathered in front of the heater not unlike the way men gather in front of a TV to
watch a football game.

My build up to the race was also different than last
week. I had a good week of training
including a Thursday Thrilla. On the Thrilla I felt like I could hit the power
when I wanted and was feeling strong. I did, however, also spend a chunk of my
Saturday working in my yard moving and stacking firewood, cutting grass and
raking leaves. As a result of the yard
duty my back was aching Saturday night and felt only slightly better Sunday at
race time.

My warm up was slightly better than last week. I had a decent starting position as
well. Last year for this race I was
tired from racing the day before at Wooley Cross and remember my legs feeling
heavy on the first lap.

As this year’s edition got underway the outside of my
right quad revealed a sore spot that I had never felt in a bike race before. If
you have ever bruised your thigh by crashing into something and then felt it
during exercise you can understand the feeling.
I still have no idea what caused this, but it hurt. After the race I rubbed the area and sure
enough, there was a lump about the size of half a hot dog. Oh well, I thought, something is always going
to hurt.

Rolling on cement

After the initial curvy grassy section we approached the
first of four long power sections where I had historically done very well. As I
approached I was counting down in my mind as I prepared to ramp up my effort,
“ready…set…go....Ah shit!” I had no power.
Between my back and my quad my accelerations would be pretty poor
today.

“Time for plan
“B,” I thought to myself. Then I settled in and spun my way toward the back of
the course. “Okay, ride steady and smart,” I thought to myself.

Unclip, run up and over some steps on a fifteen foot hill,
remount and then down and back up again.

Up, up and away..

Then a left turn on to the only corner you had to pay attention to and
then you were on the second long power section.

If I pass you, this is what it looks like !!

This led to the sustained climb (the third
power section) and then a loose gravel descent and onto the starting/finishing
straight (the final power section) and you had completed a lap.

On the second lap, as we sorted ourselves out, I noticed
Spinner John who had been sidelined with a shoulder injury, behind me by about
fifteen seconds. His eyes were bulging with his jaw jutting forward. While I am
sure he would deny it, he was flogging himself to move up. If ever there was a day I was vulnerable
today was the day and if ever there was a course that favored a less technical
power rider this was it.

On my Thursday Thrilla I had ridden with too little
pressure in my tires and had to alter my riding style to avoid getting a pinch
flat. In this race I had to alter my
riding style from power accelerations and late braking to flowing and
spinning. When I saw four laps to go I
was feeling the rip tide on the power sections as I was losing ground to other
riders. I usually am passing people
during this stage of the race and it was disheartening to get passed by some
fast young Cat 4’s. Despite my lack of
power the gap to Spinner John seemed to be growing slowly. A review of my lap times in the evening on
STRAVA would yield remarkably consistent lap splits.

When I see one lap to go I am always happy. In addition
to meaning that I will be done soon, it means I didn’t get lapped. I can always suck it up for one more lap. I did all I could on the power sections and my
sore spots prevented me from hitting my max heart rate as I usually do. Spinner
John finished nearly a minute behind me but was glad to be back mixing it up.

Go Evo Go !!

I spent much of Sunday evening working The Stick over my tender
right quad. Monday morning found me
tired and my triceps inexplicably sore. I bike commute to work on Mondays and count
that as a nice pair of recovery rides.
It is always a bit of a treat to enjoy an easy ride after putting in a
hard effort on Sunday. As I replayed my
race in my head on the way in I could not help but think on the complexities of
the problem of Cyclocross.